Master of Fact
by Mr.Vaz
Summary: A quiet soldier forced into the limelight, a detective on one last case, a researcher in over her head, a warrior who's given up on his people, a woman who's left home for the first time, a marine looking to transcend her namesake, a man who knows more than he lets on, and their ill-fated leader face the galaxy's greatest threats, both outside and within. OC insert.
1. Foreword

Story begins with the next chapter. Just a heads-up for those who don't want to read my ramblings.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, I realized that most self-and-or-original-and-or-AU character inserts in the _ME_ portion of this site haven't touched on two potential plot goldmines. In the interest of preventing spoilers, I won't drop the first one here. It will, however, become obvious fairly soon. The second, however, isn't so spoiler-y. With the exception of "day-in-the-limelight" sections, oneshots, or stories that bounce perspectives between romantic interests, hardly anyone ever uses a focal viewpoint other than the most noticeable character in the tale. Namely, that of Shepard and/or whatever inserted characters they have.

Of course, that's not to say there aren't any. Bofomania's _Quarian With A Shotgun_, for instance, focused almost solely on Tali as a character during _ME1_ (without being a romantic fic). Even more intriguing was a particular way that he (I hope I'm getting that right; already goofed that one about Myetel at one point.) presented his plot. Namely, he fleshed out her character by showing what everyone else saw, rather than a straightforward smattering of events just from her POV. It was an eye-opening tale (for me) that made me wonder one single question:

Why haven't I seen anyone use the other characters to introduce their own main characters, namely OC's or SI's?

Thinking of that brought up the idea that every character should have their own views, their own experiences with the character and their own opinions of the events around them based on what they know or think they know. Of course, that comes with its own challenge: how to structure it in such a way that characters aren't totally "spoiling" one another.

Leave it to movies to provide the answer. Especially ultra-violent ones.

You may or may not have heard of Quentin Tarantino's first two movies, _Reservoir Dogs_ and _Pulp Fiction_. In case you haven't, both present their plotlines in nonlinear fashion, with some details and events left out for later to build up dramatic tension. _Reservoir Dogs_, in particular, structured it around the individual characters: Show what one guy knew, advance the plot, introduce another character, backtrack to their beginning, and repeat.

I decided to try something similar with the first part of my _ME_ character insert, though I'll try not to let it turn into something as complex as _Memento_ (the film). Based on where I'd go with the second leg of the saga, I doubt I'd continue using this particular device after, but you never know.

At any rate, I hope you enjoy the story. Since I've said so much here, I'm trying to hold A/N's for between major releases instead of every chapter.

Goodness knows you've heard enough from me to last a while by now. ;)

(Oh, and p.s.: There will be pairings. One of them involves straight -if bicurious- Kaidan. Will I make them obvious from the start? Probably not, but I appreciate the patience!)

* * *

**Revisions Log:**

Feb 2013: Foreword added. "A Musing I" rewritten to show more of the "present". James/Lily subplot and characters removed. Yuri removed. Felix replaced with a new character. Intro chapters rewritten from insert's POV. Any reviews made before the 14th were for the previous version of the text.


	2. The First Law

Booting C-Sec Universal Translation Software v253817-385-276.

Software loaded.

Enter desired phrase.

_Lex I: Corpus omne perseverare in statu suo quiescendi vel movendi uniformiter in directum, nisi quatenus a viribus impressis cogitur statum illum mutare._

Language identified: Human. Latin.

Select output.

_Human English._

Translating...

Translation complete.

"Law I: Every body persists in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by force impressed."

Error detected: Dictionary out of date.

Error detected: Dialect filters out of date.

Downloading updates...

Installing...

Select output.

_Human English, 21st-Century Americanized._

Translating...

Translation complete.

"Law I: All bodies will continue their current linear course of motion unimpeded, unless acted upon by an outside force."

Extranet match found: Newton's first law [Follow link?]

Phrase copied.

Closing C-Sec UTS.

...

Booting Mentoolbox Theoretical Composition Assistant 2183...

Software loaded.

Phrase pasted.

Smart editing tool selected. Enter replacement phrase:

_Law I: So long as one doesn't strive to change anything, events will continue to progress in the same manner as they would have were they not there._

Checking...

Compatibility match. Replacement accepted.

Saving...

Running smart edit features...

Fatal error detected.

Analyzing...

Analysis complete.

The user's statement is false.


	3. A Musing I: Doing the Impossible

**Urai Fine Dining, Bachjret Ward, The Citadel**  
**17:52 hours (15:67 local), 10 June 2183**

"Reservation for two. Should be under 'Vic'."

The asari acknowledged the human, quickly grabbing a pair of menus and leading the way to a table. The restaurant was quiet, bathed in a dim amber light as they strolled by a number of booths. A majority sat vacant, as if disappointed at the lack of patrons. Then again, the night was still young.

Not that he noticed or cared, a pensive look on his face as he followed the hostess to a seat.

_"Atlas," they called it. The mission that would shoulder the weight of humanity and bear it into the stars, using a newfound substance that allowed us to defy everything we thought we'd known about physics and the universe around us. It was huge, like taking gasoline "waste" and using it to power car engines huge. Hell, back when we discovered it, we were all like toddlers being given their first paint set right after taking a tour of the Sistine Chapel. Seeing all that potential and suddenly realizing you have all the tools you need..._

_That single "glitch" suddenly gave the space programs of the world new hope. Einstein was wrong. If we could harness the power of this substance, it would actually allow for objects, for people, to travel faster than light. Space would literally become our final frontier. We were going to ensure the indefinite survival of our species -no, our planet- by doing what relativity had said was impossible: breaking past the speed of light._

_Of course, they didn't tell that to the public. They were spoon-fed some lie about a manned trip to Mars, with a nice layover to study some rocks and maybe start on terraforming the pl-_

He snickered as the asari held out an arm. Discreetly turning it into a cough, he sat down in the chair. Comfortable enough to ease the tension from any turian soldier's spine, yet strong enough to stand up under the weight of the rare krogan after a job best left unasked-about, the seat urged him into a relaxed state. He was unable to hide the lingering grin as the asari told him about the drink list.

_I still can't even think about that without laughing._

_But honestly, most of the others weren't even told until the day before of just what the mission really was: The first manned flight to the edge of the solar system, the first active test of human FTL technologies, and the first attempt to establish a permanent human settlement of sorts on Pluto._

_Poor thing just never catches a break, does it? Used to be considered the last planet. Picked as a site for the first human extraterrestrial colony only to have it spoiled by a failed mission. Used to have a moon, but now it's a mass relay... But I digress. Pluto isn't the important thing here. It was the FTL trip that was key._

_"How would it work?" some might ask._

_In all honesty, I didn't quite understand all of it. None of us did, really, and I only learned the full details myself later. Much later. Even now, I still have no idea why relativity says time's supposed to slow down when you approach the speed of light, let alone why the mass effect can counteract it- I was never that kind of engineer. I always worked better with things I could see, feel, and measure directly. But if I had been one of the scant few who had been told just what the codename for the stuff was, how it actually worked..._

The asari cleared her throat, clearly expecting a response for an ignored question.

"Just a water for now, thanks," he responded. "I'd rather wait for my other guest."

She bowed to him, assurances of her imminent return going unheard. His expression slipped into a frown as she walked away, an unseen shake of the head as he slipped back into his own thoughts.

_Damn, Shepard would be kicking my ass for thinking about the what-ifs. I think his exact words on the topic were something like, "biggest two-letter waste of air ever imagined by man." Looking back now, I understand where the bastard was coming from, even if it made things difficult as hell between us. Still, he's gone, and I can't help but wonder with the time I have now..._

_"What if the Curiosity hadn't found that sample?"_

_"What if I had known that it was really element zero they'd found on Mars?"_

_"What if I knew that the events of some game I'd played when I was younger could and would actually come to pass?"_

_"What if I was aware that I'd end up in the middle of it?"_

_"What if things hadn't turned out worse off because of me being here?"_

_"What if Shepard and Garrus didn't hate my guts?"_

_"What if... I had just kept my mouth shut five years ago?"_

He sighed, his finger drumming at the edge of his menu.

_Well more of us would still be around for starters... And I wouldn't need to be here, waiting to talk to Him..._

He thumbed the pamphlet open, his eyes glancing over the myriad alien dishes but not really processing any of the words.

_But I can't do anything about that now._


	4. Vic I

**Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX, USA, Earth  
****06:01 hours (00:01 local), 22 December 2012  
****170 years, 4 months before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

"_It's the end of the world as we know it_-"

"Vic, I'm going to punch you if you keep singing that song."

"Keep it down, Stu!" the first voice hissed as a head popped up over a computer screen. Dark brown eyes swept around the area, scanning the other people at their own terminals around the mission control room. In the light of a dozen televisions and even more computer screens -most of which showed a zoomed-in image of a red planet- he could tell that the vast majority of the people were too engrossed in their own work to notice. When none of them perked their own heads, the young man sat back down, giving his friend a pointed glare through his set of spectacles. "We just got this internship. I'd rather not have everyone calling me that already."

Stuart rolled his blue eyes, casually leaning back in his own chair. "Vic, you're the only guy I know who can be threatened with physical violence and still care more about your name."

His friend took off his eyeglasses, taking a moment to rub his eyes. "I just don't want a repeat of freshman year, that's all."

"I can't remember. Was that the year with the nametag or the one where I handed out flyers with your picture and number?"

The proper response was a punch to the shoulder.

"Hey, I was trying to help you get laid! Isn't that what wingmen are for?"

"It was a cafeteria, not a nightcl-"

"Enough roughhousing!" A stern-looking woman had caught the exchange, and was glaring daggers at the pair of them. "This is a NASA facility, not a playground. I don't care what your entrance qualifications were, we can always find new interns. Are we clear, Stuart? Vic?"

"Crystal," Stuart replied.

"Dammit."

"What was that?" the senior worker asked, her ire settling on the bespectacled twenty-year-old.

"I said yes, ma'am." Vic made eye contact with the woman, the playful shadow of his dark facial hair framing a false smile. His eyes stole a glance at the nametag strung from a lanyard about the woman's neck. "Won't happen again, Doctor Venkat."

She walked away without another word, and a grin split Stu's face. As he began to chuckle, his friend's mustached lip accented his own descent into a frown. "Shut up, Stu."

This, of course, only elicited another giggle as the two turned back to their displays. "Whatever you say, Vic."

Not two seconds later, however, Stuart's computer chimed loudly. In another two, the woman was back.

"What the hell did you two do now?!"

Stu spoke as his friend raised his full black eyebrows in surprise and the room erupted into a nervous buzz. "It was my computer, not his. I just set it to ding when we get something from the Mars rover." The clean-shaven intern leaned closer to the screen as a spreadsheet opened up on his display. "And judging from this, it looks like the soil samples are done."

"Impossible," she responded, disbelief evident. "It's not due for another fourteen minutes. Messages from the Curiosity can't come back that fast. Mars is-"

"Over 150 million miles away and messages can't go faster than 670 million miles an hour because nothing can travel faster than light, meaning anything sent to or from the rover takes fourteen minutes to get here," Vic finished for her. "We already went through orientation, Doctor Venkat. Besides, it probably just finished the test early."

"Sure seems that way," Stuart agreed. "It looks like everything's here. No errors or early stops."

Venkat frowned. "We plan everything down to the second with the rovers. Nothing should ever arrive early."

Vic shrugged. "Maybe we should just check the timestamps? When it sent and received the messages?"

Before the senior scientist could reply, Stuart had already scrolled back up to the top of the document. "Let's see... Last message sent from mission control at 10:47 pm. The rover received the order and started testing at 11:01 pm."

"Sounds about right to me," his fellow intern replied.

"What about the other one?" Venkat asked. "The message the rover sent?"

"The test was completed at... That's not right."

"What's up, Stu?" He turned his head slightly, the better to catch a glimpse of his friend's screen without seeing glare from the lights overhead. "Message received by mission control at 12:02 was sent..." He frowned. "At 12:02?"

"Great," Venkat muttered. "A multibillion dollar project down the drain because a pair of interns messed up its clock."

"Whoa!" the two chimed in unison as some of the others in the room began to look their way.

"It isn't our fault," Stu replied. "Our shift started at eleven, after the message was sent."

"Besides," his counterpart added, "There's no way any of what we did could have screwed up the rover's mission clock. You know how many backups it has."

"And you'd be willing to wager your jobs on that?" the woman asked.

"How?" Stu asked.

"Easy," the bearded intern responded. "Ping and response. Just send a message to the rover telling it to reply back."

"Logic says it should take fourteen minutes each way, plus tell it to wait two minutes to reply," Venkat thought aloud, nodding her head. "Exactly half an hour, and we can verify that the timer is still working properly. Get it done."

With no small amount of hurrying, with some grumbling by the coders in the room, the pair hurried to compile the order with the other interns and workers in the room. After double-, then triple-checking to make sure the rover would do exactly what they wanted, they sent the message to the Mars rover just as the clock read 12:15.

Then they waited.

And waited.

"So..." Stuart breathed. "It's 12:29."

"Yup," came his friend's clipped reply.

"Then the rover should be getting the message right about now."

"Yup."

They waited a little longer, over a minute passing before Stu spoke once more.

"Why the extra two minutes again?"

"To make sure the clock isn't glitching," Venkat answered. "If you screwed up, then the Curiosity's clock moved fast enough to think roughly 45 minutes was an hour. Which would mean I'd have to fire your asses and get some competent help around here."

"Basically, if we get a ping 30 seconds before 12:45, that means we're both can-"

Right then, Vic was cut off as the computer chimed again.

"What the hell?" Venkat breathed. "It's too soon..."

Vic checked the clock on his own computer as his friend responded. "12:31. It's much too soon for it to be anything on our end."

"Maybe the rover found something that let the message travel faster than light," the spectacled intern joked. "Magical unobtanium that manipulates mass, perhaps?" he suggested with a grin. "Maybe it was an interdimensional portal." _At least our jobs are safe. But I wonder..._

Venkat, however, was not amused.

"I need all non-senior staff to leave the room." When the two of them, along with most of the others in the room offered her a blank stare, she amended her order. "Right now."

Rather than wait for her to repeat herself, the pair joined in the group of people rapidly making for the exit. Vic couldn't help but notice several important-looking (and in some cases, tired and irritable) scientists moving into the room they'd just vacated.

"I'd hate to be her," Vic breathed as the door shut behind the last one.

"Yeah, having to explain how your Mars rover gained the ability to see into the future would probably ruin anyone's day."

"Wha- No!" Vic stammered. "The way I see it, something the rover found allowed it to send that response faster than light."

"Which should be impossible."

"Exactly!"

"So, what? We found some magical substance that lets signals travel instantly across space and time?"

"Maybe. It does sound similar to what happened in the Mass Effect-"

"Oh, come on!" Stu blurted, startling him. "You're bringing that video game into it? Next you're going to tell me they'll find promethean ruins on Mars too."

"Prothean," Vic corrected, shaking his head. "Prometheans are from Halo 4. I still have no idea how you ended up at NASA when you didn't like sci-fi."

Stuart offered a shrug in return. "Sorry, I didn't see that checkbox on the application."


	5. Vic II

**[Classified location], USA, Earth  
****12:28 hours, 14 April 2014  
****169 years, 8 days before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

_Son,  
We're so proud of you!  
Your father and I would have sent something last week when we heard, but we still have no idea where you're stationed. We'll hold on to it for when you come back though.  
Oh, and are you still in touch with Stuart? Your sister said he was still working there, but that he had to drop out of contact because of something classified. About as transparent as a brick wall, but I can't say I didn't see it coming.  
Don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger.  
We all miss you though, and hope your training's going well. Please tell me when you have a chance to come back for a visit. I miss hearing from you.  
-Mom  
p.s. Your father told me to write "Duuude."  
p.p.s. Get a haircut._

Vic smiled as he scooted his chair toward the computer screen, its dim light blending seamlessly with the grey predawn twilight sneaking its way into the room. He clicked the reply button, bringing up a blank slate to write his own email response. His eyes found themselves drawn to a picture taped to the top of the computer screen. A tanned teenage boy sat on an armchair, curly overgrown hair threatening to erupt into a full-blown afro. In the boy's lap sat a girl, her own hair tied back into a ponytail that she was failing at keeping out of his bespectacled face. She was trying to grip the neck of an electric guitar that sat across the chair, her fingers almost comically small in comparison to the frets. The boy was pointing at the instrument, trying to correct her fingering as the girl's tongue snuck into her captured gap-toothed grin.

_Amy sure has grown. Has it really been that long?_

He chuckled, turning his attention back to the screen as he typed.

"_Mom,  
She's too damn good for him. Besides, I already see more than enough of the bastard at work. Family dinners would be too much, even for me._"

A snort accompanied the punctuation. _I still can't believe he got the damn pilots calling me "Vic" already._ He shrugged, returning to his email.

"_I wish I could tell you more about what I'm doing, but they're screening everything that goes in and out of my computer. Apparently, the NDA doesn't even let me get Netflix. Shame really, but at least I still have the Xbox._"

The man paused, stroking his beard as he thought about all the training he'd been going through: cardio, zero-g maneuvers, how to put on and remove a fully-sealed spacesuit (which merited its own lengthy course), warnings about what foods could and couldn't be eaten outside of the planet's gravity well...

And he couldn't say a single word about any of it. He and Stuart had been lucky to be the "first" to notice the anomaly over a year ago, but at times like this he had to wonder if discovering the potential for FTL travel had been worth it.

Then again, NASA was keeping him in the dark on some of the details as much as he was keeping his family out of the loop.

"_They're keeping me in shape with the work though. I can say that much at least. They give everyone a week off around the new year, but I'll give you a holler if I can catch a break before then. I miss you guys too...  
Oh, and tell that goofy goober to keep her hands off my Ibanez. I know she's been itching to mess with it again. ;)_"

The man laughed, a genuine sound that he hadn't heard enough of lately (aside from Stu laughing when everyone else called him by the nickname). He took a deep breath, the grin lingering as he finished the message.

"_Tell Dad I said 'Sweeeet!' Hopefully I'll get the chance to tell him that in person before Christmas though. I love you all.  
Your son,_"


	6. Vic III

**John F. Kennedy Space Center, Cape Canaveral, FL, USA, Earth  
12:56 hours (06:56 local), 19 February 2017  
166 years, 2 months, 3 days before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

"So you're telling me your name isn't Victor?"

Vic shook his head, his mind elsewhere as he strode towards the elevator. The bare metal framework did nothing to impede his view of the sole thing that drew away his attention. "I still can't believe they brought a space shuttle back into service just because of us. Didn't they decommission those almost five years ago, Sanders?"

The man next to him chuckled softly, the thin lines in his face growing more pronounced as he shook his head. "Just call me Felix. And don't let appearances fool you. Atlas was made to look like the old space shuttles from the outside, but it's a completely different beast on the inside."

"I'd almost be insulted if it wasn't," a woman on Sanders' other side chirped, her short red hair tied back in a simple ponytail. "None of the other pilots had to jump through that many hoops just to man a flight. I was about ready to lodge a formal complaint until they told me the rest of the details."

"Relax, Dawn," a shorter man cooed, an unsightly plaid stocking cap covering most of his dark hair. "We made the qualifications in the end, didn't we?"

"Right..." she breathed as they reached the walkway's terminus. They all filed into an open-air elevator, which started to rise. "Though I still have no idea how you were so patient the whole time, Jim."

"The secret is this," the man responded, tapping his temple as the platform lifted them several storeys into the air.

"Rockheadedness?" Stu quipped, prompting a snicker that Vic had more than a little trouble hiding.

"No, it's the hat. Bought it the day before the Saints won Super Bowl Forty-Four. Thing's been good luck for me ever since."

"That can't be good with the ladies," Vic noted, raising an eyebrow at the bright yellow and brown garment. Jim, however, softly tutted and raised a finger.

"Actually, wouldn't have met my wife if it wasn't for this thing. It even got her to make the first move. Instant ladykiller status, I'm telling you."

"Bullshit," Stuart coughed, drawing a few more chuckles from the group. "What was the first thing she said? 'You should take it off'?"

"Actually, she was wondering what sort of bet I lost. But that's not important. What is important is that it still worked!" The last thing Jim had said was drowned out by laughter as the platform slowed to a stop. The group began walking again, across a short bridge connecting the elevator tower to the Atlas. Vic was the last to reach the airlock, climbing in and sealing the outer hatch once the other four people had entered. After a few moments spent gazing at an ornate trio of flags decorating the room, Felix opened the inner door. As the others slowly vacated the airlock, Vic got his first look at the cockpit. He gave a low whistle after closing the portal, ducking his head as the others climbed the "floor" to their seats, using the sturdy chairs as a makeshift ladder before belting themselves in with their backs to the ground.

"_Cramped" would be an understatement._

He pulled himself into the last seat, one that was in the vehicle's third row of chairs. As he tightened his harness, he could hear Jim speaking into a headset from two rows ahead.

"Control, this is Atlas. Crew has boarded and we are beginning final pre-launch checklist."

As he grabbed his own headset, his neighbor passed him a nod, her own headset and belts long since secured. "Hi," she replied once he was situated. "You're Vincent, right?"

"Good guess, but not Vic's real name," Stu interrupted from his other side, prompting an eye roll.

"Stuart here insists on everybody calling me Vic. Don't ask."

"I see," she murmured. "I haven't had time to get to know the entire team yet."

"Oh, so you're Damien's backup?"

She nodded. "Shame he broke his leg last week. I was a quick study though. Apparently, the video game he had me playing between shifts was a training sim. Should have known something was up when the online leaderboard had only twelve people, but I didn't complain when I got the top score."

Stu's grin evaporated in a burst of shock. "How the hell did you beat my-"

"Stuart," Vic growled, silencing his friend. "Sorry, he talks too much for his own good. You're Doctor Sanders' second in engineering, then?"

"I keep telling you, Vic," the balding man responded from a row ahead. "Call me Felix."

"Right," she answered. "My name's Tabitha. I already met Bruno though." The woman nodded toward the burly man sitting next to Felix, who was delving into a cabinet situated next to his own seat. "He's our... chef?"

"Officially, yes," Bruno's voice rumbled from within the enclosure. "Not that there's anything worthwhile to cook with, to be honest. I'm really here as an emergency medic, maintenance, and backup engineer, not that I know that much about the last one."

"That's what Stu and I are for," Vic added. "In theory, you shouldn't need more than one of us once things get started, but the guys on the ground want to have all their bases covered." He pointed toward the front row of the cabin, where the last two occupants were skimming over a half-dozen displays and countless switches. "Dawn, on the left, is our pilot. Best NASA could get their hands on. Don't ever doubt that or she'll knock your teeth out. Jim, on the right, is our copilot and communications chief." The man spared a quick nod before speaking back into his headset.

"Houston, we have completed our pre-flight check and are standing by for liftoff. Confirm T-minus-sixty seconds as of three, two, one, mark."

"What's with his hat?" Tabitha asked, tipping her head in Jim's direction.

"Superstitious," Stu said with a roll of his eyes. "He's afraid something might go wrong if he takes it off."

The communications officer, busy talking into the radio, allowed his hand to deliver his succinct reply: a middle finger.

"Quit aggravating him, Stuart," Felix replied, double-checking his straps. "Let the man work."

Vic rolled his eyes as his old friend turned toward him. "Oh, Vic... How much do you think it would take to make him take the hat off? Five bucks? Maybe ten?"

"You don't want to do that, Stu..." he muttered, removing his glasses and putting them in his pocket. Vic blinked a couple of times and looked back to his neighbor, his vision going from the clarity of a high quality photograph to a paint-by-number blur as the eyes refocused.

"How about twenty?" Stu called out. "Just five seconds is all I need."

"Don't do it Stu." Vic looked back to the back of Jim's head, the funky neon colors and crossed lines of the copilot's hat blending into a muddy greenish-brown without his eyewear. "You won't like what happens."

"Launching in fifteen." Jim lifted the cap off his head, and Vic saw a mess of darker brown hair underneath. _Can't be too sure without my glasses, but..._

"Dammit," Stu swore. Vic, however, grinned. _And there's my confirmation._

"Seven, six..."

Tabitha leaned over to him, as far as the tight harness would allow. "What was that about?"

"That, Tabby, was the sound of Stu losing seventy bucks. Told him Jimmy wasn't bald, but _no_..."

"Engage."


	7. Vic IV

**IFV Atlas, maiden voyage  
Fine location: [ERR_R: D#TA COR&UPTIXN5DETXCTED. _RITICAL FAI+UR/ OF STAR )ATABASE.]  
Mission clock: T+ 5.08E9 se%onds [XRROR: TIM_ SYXCHR8NIZATIO011011100010000001110011IGNAL LOST$aVERIFY?]**

Blackness. Light bent and twisted, ever fleeting, never staying. One moment, the floor was visible by a sudden flash of brilliance threatening to blind him. The next, an infinite expanse of inky darkness separated him from the rail nearby. The room materialized and faded around him at will, the scenery growing closer and farther as if reality itself was unsure of its own existence.

_The sudden luminosity of the drive core. A thousand bolts of electricity arc behind the insulated glass capsule, a perfect storm of deadly intent behind a zookeeper's cage. The cockiness in Stu's grin as he sat back in his seat defies it, and a calm settles over the engineers as they strap themselves in front of their consoles. "We're all set here, Felix."_

_"Alright. Increase output of the first core to thirty percent. Start her off slow, then we'll make the first jump."_

**_Victim_**_  
_

His head throbbed as icy chill settled over his gut. _How long was I unconscious? A minute? An hour? More?_ The silent body drifting through the air next to him held no answer. He tried not to focus on the reddish blobs hovering nearby. The sterility of space didn't exactly speed up decomposition.

_Tabitha was grinning ear to ear. "Position confirmed: we're point-one AU from Jupiter. Second test was a complete success. Looks like the core works like a charm."_

_"Excellent." Felix turned slightly, the man's grace in the lack of gravity a far cry from what his wrinkled face would suggest he possessed. "Vic, prepare the secondary core. We need to start phase two."_

Emptiness. The void just beyond his fingertips stretched onwards, too deep to be real, too vivid to be fantasy. His skull throbbed as he fought back the disorienting vertigo, trusting more in his hands than his eyes.

_**Victi**  
_

_"Sir? The second core isn't activating. Looks like the field from the first one is... suppressing it?"_

_"Perhaps..." The elder brushed a hand over his face, clearly deep in thought. He gave a quick nod. "Alright. Scale back the power on core one, Stu. Ten percent."_

His hand clasped shut, the frigid steel amplifying the cold pit inside him as it held its corporeal form. A tug. A second freezing touch. He shivered and looked around once more, both hands now on the safety rail.

_"Core two, power stable at ten percent." The dancing electricity crackled eagerly from behind the barrier, two faint blue orbs forming at opposite ends of the glass silo._

_"Acknowledged," Tabitha added. "How much juice do you want to give her, doc?"_

_"Take both cores up to thirty percent."_

_The orbs began to expand._

_**Vict**_

He placed one hand in front of the other, slowly inching his way along as the light gave way to the ravenous darkness once more. A thousand twinkling shards glinted defiantly for half a moment, shield turned into a dangerous sword. Something large, muscular, and limp bumped into him. He paid it no mind, pulling himself further along as his head continued to swim.

_Electricity lanced out as they made contact, the bubble rapidly growing to encompass the ship. The consoles in the room blared angrily in response, the lights flickering as the cores began to leech the ship's power._

_"Shut them down!"_

_"I can't!"_

_For once, even Stu was afraid. "Energy levels climbing exponentially. The glass wasn't made to contain this much."_

_"Tabitha, cut the hard li-"_

He grunted. His skull felt as if it was pulsating, every fiery heartbeat threatening to crush his brain. _Door... Can't be far now..._ He shut his eyes in pain as an arc shot out of one of the cores, burning his vision with a bright blue line.

**_Vic_**

_Felix's voice cut off as the orbs suddenly contracted. The field within the glass erupted with the fury of a vexed Zeus, lightning and thunder scattering over the room as an otherworldly bang silenced the room to his ears. The shield burst outward, countless brittle projectiles creating a deadly hail as he raised his hands over his face. Several of the shards ricocheted off of the reinforced hull, pinging through the engine room like pinballs as they stung at every exposed bit of his flesh. He yelled as pain erupted from his leg, barely aware of the tethers that coupled him to the railing being torn asunder._

He stopped to catch his breath, his head still pounding as the light stabilized somewhat once more into an electric twilight. Another form drifted past him, distorted slightly by a thin line that split the air in front of his right eye. He shut it, focusing on the view through his undamaged left lens, and gasped.

It wasn't his broken glasses that had made the man look odd, he was simply _broken_ in every possible way imaginable.

_Gravity made a surprise visit, his body suddenly plummeting straight into the thunderstorm. It vanished just as quickly, vertigo abating as he continued to drift toward the maelstrom. He reached out in vain, grasping for anything that could alter his suicidal course. _

_Something slammed into him. The tangle of limbs drifted away from the cores, and he saw a flash of blue in his rescuer's eyes. "Thanks, Stu." He couldn't even hear the words leave his mouth, the world around him still silent._

_Instead he heard a siren. A prerecorded voice blared at them, somehow still audible in his deafened state._

_"Warning: Breach de-"_

_The room lurched. He watched as the room sped by around the two of them. He turned around, noticing that Stu was between him and the rapidly-approaching wall._

_Everything went black._

He yelped. If he was in pain, it was nothing compared to Stu's crushed remains. Even more unsettling was his face- or the lack of damage to it. Bright blue eyes continued to stare at him, as if gazing into his very soul. Fear paralyzed him, but he was terrified of what would happen if he lingered.

_**Keep going**_**.**

He pushed away from the railing, propelling himself over the last few meters separating him from the door.

He didn't dare look back.

The pilots' cabin was silent. The window showed nothing but a bluish aura, traces of the cores' field as they sped at speeds faster than light. The chill touched his bones again as he glanced at the bodies around him. A beanie cap, stained with red, drifted aimlessly through the air.

None of the others had survived.

The room leaped backwards, slamming him into the back of one of the seats. A crack split the air, but the surprised scream was drowned out by the sound of an electronic voice.

"Drive cores offline. Liquid O2 and N2 stores critical. Maneuvering thrusters damaged. Warning: Current course will lead to collision with [unknown planet] in approximately twenty-two minutes. Course correction advised."

As the stream of curses flowing from his lips slowed, he glanced over the seat once more. Sparks of white dotted the view beyond the window, a bright yellow orb being easily the closest and most visible of the stars. When he saw the dented and bloody control panel in front of the pilots' seats, he promptly resumed from where he'd left off.

"Twenty minutes until collision."

_What the hell do I do?_ His mind blanked as he looked around the room once more. Static buzzed at him from the cracked console at Jim's station. There was no chance of repairing the comm in time, especially with a newly-broken arm. The ship itself was crippled, no more useful than a drifting coffin and just as hospitable for anyone who wanted to continue living.

"Fifteen minutes until collision."

Terror began to take hold as a bright blue ball began to expand across the window. Spots of greenish-brown and white dotted the surface, reminding him of Earth. The continents, however, were all laid out wrong, the shapes much larger and more angular than his native planet.

If he wasn't so afraid of crashing, he would have been in awe.

"Ten minutes until collision."

"ShitshitshitshitSHIT!" His head swiveled around the room like a searchlight, taking in everything in an attempt to find something -_anything_- that could get him out alive. He found nothing. His breaths came short and fast, burning through what precious little air remained in the cabin.

_**Keep going.**_

Jim's cap floated by once more, carelessly floating through the air. His eyes locked on the headpiece, its shape kickstarting his beleaguered mind.

_A parachute... If I had something large enough, I could-_ He gasped. _There's a flag in the airlock!_

He pushed off of the chair, hoping to drift cleanly across what little space there was between him and the sealed chamber. To his dismay, gravity decided to poke its ugly head once more. He slowly began to fall, but had enough presence of mind to land on his uninjured arm.

"Entering outer atmosphere. Eight minutes until collision."

Blocking out the pain, he dragged himself through the portal. The cramped room was spartan; unadorned aside from a group of lockers and a trio of flags. A dark blue one with a ring of twelve yellow stars appeared to have been hastily placed, as did a light blue one with a white overlay of a distorted Earth over a pair of olive branches.

They were far too small.

A larger flag had been placed purposefully behind them, however: stripes of red and white with a blue field clearly visible in a corner were shielded from the chaos by a pane of glass and an excessively ornate frame. Below it, an inscription had been carved into the metal wall: _"One small step for man."_

He smashed the glass.

"Seven minutes until collision."

He yanked open the lockers, quickly finding his own spacesuit and several cables meant to function as tethers to the ship. He fastened them to his suit, then hurriedly began linking their free ends to the flag's corners.

"Six minutes until collision."

Despite his wounds, he hurriedly threw on the gear, not bothering to check if the atmospheric seals were active. _If I can't breathe here, then I'm dead anyway._ Even so, it was a labored process, and it took him longer than he'd have liked before his helmet was attached. He walked over to the far door, the bulky suit turning his stride into a waddle. He tapped on the airlock's control panel. A confirmation came up: **Depressurize?**

"Ninety seconds until collision."

He bundled up the flag into his arm as best he could, then hit the switch.

The door was torn open with a mighty roar. A torrent of wind rushed through the room, angrily drowning out the sound of the collision alarms. The other loose flags came free, doing a lap across the ceiling before flying out the door. He took a step forward, getting a first glimpse of the alien world.

_Oh shit..._

The first direction he looked was down. Verdant green fields blurred together into a sea of foliage. Trees loomed in the distance, dotted across a group of hills. A snowcapped mountain towered upward suddenly, nearly close enough for him to step down onto the peak.

_Oh shit._

He gulped, looking back skyward. The sun was rapidly setting, bathing the sky in peach-colored light. There were a few clouds strung across the horizon, and the wind continued to whip at his EVA suit.

_Oh SHIT!_

He squinted his eyes shut, all too aware of the air rushing around him as he continued to stand at the edge of the doorway. _Everything_ ached: his broken arm, his lacerated leg, his skull...

_OH SHIT!_

He balked, lingering a moment longer on the line between certain death and _statistically almost-certain death_. His breath came in rushed bursts, though the planet's air didn't appear to be killing him yet.

**_Jump, Victim._**

He leaned forward, and gravity took over. His insides felt like they were being left behind as he accelerated. The ground rushed forward to meet him. The flag was yanked from his hands as the wind roared in triumph. He felt himself being tugged as the improvised parachute slowed his descent.

Then a cable snapped.

And another.

And another.

The world began to spin, the flag embracing him in a death spiral as it covered his eyes. He fought with it to extend his limbs, to get it off, to do _anything_ that could save him. He managed to uncover his helmet.

Just in time to crash into the branches of a tree.


	8. Hannah I

**Town Square, Grid N12-47-01 by W32-29-56, 2169-Osmund-2nd Moon****  
****19:10 hours (10:10 local), 11 April 2170**  
**13 years, 11 days before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

Fanfare. The smell of a half-dozen people barbecuing freshly-caught game. A jovial energy sweeping the throng of people. The shortage of open space in the so-called "plaza" between a few principal prefabs. It wasn't every day a colony had a chance to vote on their own name, and these people were marking the celebration with all the enthusiasm of a group of college students tailgating before a championship game against their greatest rivals.

_...And I'm stuck here in my dress blues._

The thought almost made her laugh. As it was, Hannah grinned softly as she gracefully strode through the space, a rifle-carrying marine on either side. Her red hair practically floated on the breeze from the moon's low gravity, two-thirds that of Earth. A blue orb dominated the sky, adding to the yellow light of the local star and casting the verdant surroundings in a lively blue-green hue. Overhead, a group of F-59 Halberd fighters waltzed through the air. Thin trails of smoke marked their practiced movements as they drifted across the view of the gas giant, Osmund. A cheer went up from the crowd as one of them flew against the formation, seemingly passing by its wingmates with inches to spare as it lanced through the group.

She was not impressed.

The stunt pilots' dance couldn't hold a candle to the sight of several hundred fighters streaking across empty space simultaneously. The rush she'd feel as she plotted a short-range jump to safety. The way her blood pumped as she watched the unpredictable spirals of hundreds of craft unfold. The way they weaved their way across the carrier's radar in a tango with death. Now _that_ was beauty unchained.

She cast her eyes away from the sky with a sigh. She hadn't had a taste of that particular guilty pleasure in over a year.

Blinking her way back to the present, Hannah felt the wind catch her hair. One of the fighters flew over at extremely low altitude, tousling the heads of the crowd with a torrent of air as it flirted with the roofs of the buildings.

_Can't say they didn't try_, she thought as the crowd let out a collective cheer.

One person, however, didn't cheer. A little girl cowered as the fighter streaked away, shivering. A streak of liquid glimmered on her tanned face as she shrunk away from the batlike figure as it vanished into the distance.

Hannah traded a look with one of her escorts, jerking her head in the child's direction. With a nod, he followed as she turned toward the child. The girl's lip trembled as the uniformed woman approached with her companion. The child backed up, bumping into another person who'd approached from behind, unnoticed.

"Relax," he said as he placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "They won't hurt you."

She recognized the boy's sandy blonde hair, shorn to a buzz cut.

"They're with the Alliance. Our protectors, our saviors."

His eyes were auburn in color, their reddish tint standing out against his pale skin.

"They stand tall against the threat of slavers and pirates, defending our borders with honor and integrity."

He was tall for a teenager, even taller than she remembered.

"They'll fight to the last man to stop those who'd harm Earth and her colonies."

His body was well-toned, arm muscles clambering for attention from under the sleeves of his t-shirt.

"They will never fall, and they will never give up."

Even so, there was no mistaking him, her silver star.

"Isn't that right, Mom?"

Hannah forced herself to look away, smiling at the girl.

She didn't have the heart to tell him just how wrong he was.


	9. Steven I

**SSV Hastings, Eden Prime Orbit**  
**22:09 hours, 25 February 2178**  
**5 years, 1 month, 25 days before joint Spectre-STG Operation VIRM-245-NA**

_"This is Service Chief Nirali Bhatia, requesting immediate medevac for unknown male civilian in patrol zone 36-B. He appears to have been onboard the ship that just crashed near Harrow, jumped with a makeshift parachute and landed in a tree. Multiple lacerations and broken bones, and I'd be shocked if there weren't any internal injuries. He's holding on, but you need to make it fast."_

Silence reigned for a moment as the audio ended. He turned to his right, looking at the raven-haired woman whose voice had been recorded. He spoke to her with a voice equal parts honey and sandpaper. "Did you notice anything odd about his appearance? Or anything he carried?"

She appeared to mull the question over before speaking, her tongue hesitant, but lacking doubt. "Yes and no, admiral. He was wearing an antiquated EVA suit, and I recognized his flag from my old history class as that of the old North American States. Aside from the systems to keep the suit working, I didn't see any tech on him. No kinetic barriers or thruster packs, no translator. Not even a civilian omni-tool."

He nodded, quietly mulling over the details –or more correctly, the lack thereof. "That will be all, Bhatia. You're dismissed."

"Sirs." She gave a parting salute before leaving, giving the room's other occupants a respectable berth on the way to the door. One, a squat man with a shaved head, gave her a courteous nod on the way out. The other, a stern man with a shadow of stubble on his chin, scowled as she left.

As soon as the door had closed, the second man shot a glare at the first. "What the hell were you thinking, bringing him aboard? He just crashed a ship into a colony and tried to escape. We're lucky the thing dropped out of FTL when it did, or the whole planet could've been demolished."

"I've seen a lot of wounded before, Mikhailovich," the shaved man responded, French accent barely noticeable. "I've even seen a krogan succumb to less of a beating than that kid took. Medical facilities groundside are barely set up; they couldn't handle a case as bad as his. Besides, there's no real evidence supporting your terrorist theory."

"That's beside the point, _captain_," Mikhailovich responded, growing red in the face. "You brought an unknown aboard an Alliance warship, after he'd nearly parked a ship on top of the largest city on Eden Prime. If it weren't for the name tag, you wouldn't even who he is for Christ's sake!"

"Enough, Boris," the admiral cut in, his voice filling the briefing room like a cascade trapped in a bucket. "Captain Belliard has him unconscious and under armed guard. He hasn't taken any unnecessary risks."

Mikhailovich's eyes narrowed. "How can you be so sure about that? We don't know how far the batarians are willing to go. The pirate attacks are bad enough, but if they're using human slaves to do their dirty work-"

The admiral cut in. "They would have made sure we knew who was behind it. An archaic flag for a human nation just doesn't fit their M.O."

Belliard cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "We could ask him. His lungs and ribcage are nearly healed; he can tell us how he ended up on that ship if we take him off the sedatives."

"And if he resists?" Mikhailovich asked, lifting a brow.

"My XO will be there. If anyone can handle it, it'd be the only human ever considered for the Spectres. Even though I doubt it would come to that."

It took only a moment for the admiral to respond. "Then lead the way, Captain."

"Of course, sir." Belliard paused to fiddle with his omni-tool for a moment, then walked out the room.

The admiral and Boris followed him through the halls of the vessel, bathed in the Alliance's preferred soft blue lighting. They stopped at a door with a gleaming red icon. Orange light momentarily wreathed Belliard's arm as he waved it at the hologram. The door slid away, only to be replaced by an imposing man in combat armor. Upon seeing the admiral, however, he stood aside with a crisp salute.

"At ease, Commander Anderson," Belliard quipped as they entered. "Has the doc mentioned anything new about our guest?"

"Just one thing, Captain," he answered. "The man's nearsighted."

Mikhailovich scowled. "He jumped out of a shuttle with a flag for a parachute. Not exactly a forward-thinker."

"Not what I meant, Sir." Anderson gestured to a table behind him, where an antiquated pair of eyeglasses lay. "Damnedest thing. The surgery's been free for over a century back on Earth. Last time I saw a pair of those, it was behind museum glass. They don't even use them as props in movies anymore."

The admiral cocked an eyebrow. "How did they survive the fall?"

"Chakwas found them in a reinforced pocket on his suit. He had another pair on his face when he came in, but they were bent out of shape. Lenses didn't shatter on the other set, but they're cracked beyond repair. Based on the set that survived, he'd probably have trouble seeing details on anything past a meter away."

"No backwater colony would let someone go around with vision that bad," Mikhailovich growled.

"Another thing we'll have to ask him about," Belliard added with a pointed look at Anderson. "Wake him up."

If the staff commander had any questions, he kept them to himself. The soldier stepped over to a cot at the other end of the room, as far from the entrance as possible.

That's when the admiral got his first look at the guy.

His body was badly damaged. It was rare to see someone in a cast when you had access to bone weaving technology, but he was in a solid full-body cast. What parts weren't covered told a grisly tale. A thin red line stretched down his left forearm, where Nirali had run out of medigel and resorted to wrapping the wound in a cloth while waiting for backup. The skin on his forehead was stained purple, with more marks where the damaged pair of glasses had been crushed against his face by his helmet.

"I know he's not much to look at, but the man's lucky to be in the shape he is now," Anderson replied as he turned off the sedative drip. "Doc says it's miraculous he got away without any spinal damage, and the injuries can all be healed in a little over a month."

"If we let him stick around that long," Mikhailovich added ominously. Ignoring the look the admiral shot him, the man continued speaking. "What's the rating on your sidearm, Commander?"

Anderson patted his hip, where a compacted pistol was attached to his belt. "It's a mark five cobra, fully charged."

Belliard gave Boris a withering stare as he hissed back. "We don't even know what he was doing and you're talking about shooting him in _my_ medbay?"

"Don't arm it," the admiral barked, "but if I give the order do not hesitate. I want to hear what he has to say."

The others fell silent, the tension between them palpable as they waited. Several minutes later, one of the patient's fingers twitched. Then another. A low moan came from the bandaged man as his eyelids slowly opened. His dark eyes drifted around the room, rolling past the four of them as if they weren't there.

"Where am I?"

_At least he speaks the trade tongue_, the admiral thought. "You're onboard the Hastings, a human frigate."

What was left of the man's brows knit together in confusion. "Human? What do you-"

"We'll be asking the questions," Boris cut in. "What the hell were you doing on the ship that crashed into that planet six days ago?"

The wounded man blinked. "They… They're really… gone?"

"Answer the question, Vic!"

"Not… my real name."

"I don't give a damn what you want me to call you!" Mikhailovich had gone red in the face. "What I _do_ care about is why you were able to get within five million kilometers of a planet at FTL when every eezo-powered ship has safeguards that are supposed to make that impossible!"

Vic turned his head slightly. His face scrunched in confusion before wincing in pain. "Safeguards?"

Mikhailovich stepped closer, as if ready to strike the bedridden man. "Don't you back sass me you-"

"Boris!" the admiral yelled. "Stand down."

Mikhailovich stood there a few more seconds, breathing heavily as he glared at Vic. Then he stalked out of the room, without a word or parting glance.

_We need a different tactic here, keep him from playing dumb._ The admiral locked eyes with Anderson, inclining his head toward Vic.

"You said 'they' were gone," David replied, understanding the gesture. "Who are 'they', exactly?"

"Seven of us…" The man took a deep breath. "The _Atlas _had a crew of seven."

"And what happened to them?" Belliard pressed.

"Systems went haywire… after we started… second power core."

The other three traded a look of surprise. "That wouldn't have worked," the admiral thought aloud. "Overlapping the mass effect fields would have collapsed both-"

Vic erupted into a furious bout of coughing, cutting off the admiral's thought process.

"Sorry… Hurts to laugh... Reminded me of an old video game."

"There are too many of those these days," Anderson responded, continuing to play the good cop as Mikhailovich reentered the room. "Where were you from, by the way?"

"Grew up in San Diego… Moved to Philadelphia… Drexel University… Electrical and mechanical engineering."

"That's an impressive accomplishment. It's a little early for spring break though."

Another cough, though less intense than before. "No… Graduated… six years ago… Working for NASA since… Test flight… Experimental tech." He grinned, his bruised and swollen face looking oddly comical. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, a glee in his eyes too great to be a farce. "We went faster than light."

Belliard shook his head in disbelief. The admiral, however, narrowed his eyes as he spoke. "Son, NASA hasn't existed for nearly thirty years. Not since we found the Prothean cache on Mars. It's been the Alliance ever since."

Vic frowned. "That's not funny."

"They almost dissolved it decades before," Belliard confirmed. "Back in the Second American Civil War."

"Shut up."

Mikhailovich rejoined the conversation. "Now see here-"

"My friends…" Vic gulped. "Gone… Crashed… You expect me to believe… this is all part of some game?"

"That is not what we're saying," Belliard responded.

"Bullshit!" Vic barked, as a medical monitor indicated a spike in blood pressure. "Protheans on Mars… Second Civil War… Mass effect…" His eyes turned back to where Boris's voice had come from. "You said 'eezo'… What next? Alien agent falsified report… destroyed a refinery full of people… to sabotage first human Spectre?"

Belliard gasped as Anderson's dark skin paled several shades. _That was supposed to be classified._

"Attacking batarian pirates on Torfan… in revenge for the Skyllian Blitz?"

"We've been looking for those bastards for months," Mikhailovich mumbled.

"The great Commander Shepard… becomes Spectre after… Eden Prime attacked… by geth?"

_Shepard? Where do I know that name from?_

"And nobody gives a damn… about what he says… until their homeworlds… are overrun by… giant mecha-cthulus… and tech-zombies?" Vic shook his head once more, though he didn't wince as much as the first time. "Tell me… the truth… That it's still… 2019… and I'm back… on Earth."

A pregnant silence followed. The admiral traded glances with the others, seeing the same things in all their eyes.

Fear.

Doubt.

Hesitation.

The admiral stepped forward. "Belliard, give the man his eyeglasses. The backup pair." He fixed his eyes on Vic's, which turned to him as he came closer. "I want you to tell me everything you know about that game."

"Google it… Game's called… _Mass Effect_."

"I will. _After_ I hear it from you, Vic."

Vic squinted his eyes, a gesture the admiral had seen from many children shortly before they'd gotten eye surgery. "And just who… are you… that cares so… much what I have… to say?"

Belliard returned with the spectacles, momentarily standing between them as he placed the object on Vic's swollen face.

"Son," the admiral breathed, "If you're telling the truth, I have a feeling you'll know exactly who I am the moment you look at me."

As Belliard stepped away, Vic's mouth gaped open. The machine began to beep again as his eyes locked with the admiral's.

The door behind him opened, shoes clacking across the deck. The admiral looked up to see a woman with silver-blonde hair rushing toward the bedside. "His pulse just spiked twice in less than two minutes. What in heaven's name are you doing to him?"

Anderson stepped between her and her objective. "Relax, I haven't let them lay a hand on her, doctor-"

"Chakwas."

The admiral turned back to Vic, who was staring at the room's new occupant. The man gulped, then spoke again.

"She's Karin Chakwas, and he-" His eyes settled on the man who'd stopped her. "-Is David Anderson... first human considered... for Spectrehood."

The admiral cleared his throat, and Vic's gaze turned back to him.

"And who am I?"

"You're Admiral Steven Hackett… commander of the Fifth Fleet."

Hackett nodded, then looked up at the other people Vic had named. "Anderson, Chakwas, you need to wait outside."

* * *

**A/N: And there's big change number one. Would have uploaded sooner, but emergency home improvement took priority.**


	10. Author Notice: Imminent Chap Scrambling

This is a heads-up that the posted chapters will be reordered soon. The sections with Hannah were intended to be spread through the entire story, but I feel they would have more impact if they were all shown nearer to the beginning. (And so people don't forget about her in between appearances.) As such, the current order:

Foreword - 1st Law - Musing 1 - Vic 1 - Vic 2 - Vic 3 - Vic 4 - **_Hannah 1_** - Stephen 1

Will be rearranged with new chapters as:

Foreword - 1st Law - Musing 1 - Vic 1 **- ****_Hannah 1_** - Vic 2 - **_Hannah 2_**- Vic 3 - _**Hannah 3**_ - Vic 4 -_**Hannah 4**_- Stephen 1

The contents of each chapter that was already posted will remain unchanged. My apologies to those who are impacted for Review Tag. Same to those of you who were waiting for the next chronological chapter (Ashley 1). This decision has been a major reason for the delay of that chapter's release.

This notice will be taken down once the new chapters are posted.


End file.
